I know I should be grateful. I really do. But I never asked for this. I never asked for any of it.
My momma used to say God gives you only as much pain as you can take.So why does it feel like I am being punished just for living? Why does breathing feel so fucking wrong?
I take a deep breath and step out of the car, following Simona toward the white concrete fence and the stairs leading to the front entrance.
The door opens, and a couple steps outside.
I recognize his face instantly. The face that locked me away. The only difference now is the gray in his hair and the beard along his jaw. Eyes stayed the same, still judging.
A blonde woman standing next to him smiles at me, her full red lips parting as she sees me. Her face is smooth, almost too smooth, frozen in place with no wrinkles. She wears a white blouse with a navy-blue pullover draped over her shoulders. She looks beautiful.
“Come here,” she says the moment I step onto the stone stairs.
She opens her arms and walks toward me. My hands hang awkwardly at my sides, fingers twitching as she pulls me into a tight hug. My body goes numb.
“You can call me Momma Cat,” she says, tapping the tip of my nose.
I furrow my brows and blink at her. “Okay,” I say.
I already see it. She is going to treat me like I’m six, not sixteen.
“Catherine, for Christ’s sake, why would you call yourself Momma Cat?” the judge says. He looks at her and slams his palm against his face.
“Don’t teenagers do that nowadays?” She looks at him, then at me.
I shake my head and tuck my chin down, forcing my face into a double chin.
She smiles anyway. She takes my hand, ignores my resistance, and pulls me forward. She brushes past the judge like he is nothing more than a decoration leaning against the doorframe, and he stays where he is, watching every step I take.
“This is your home now,” she says as we cross the threshold.
The house is beautiful.
As we pass the front door, black-and-white marble tiles spread beneath my feet. A white marble staircase stands at the center, its gold railing leading to the second floor. To the right, partof the living room opens, revealing a white sofa alone in the middle. Further to the right, an oval opening, framed by two white angel statues, leads to the garden. I hear water splashing and imagine a pool just beyond my sight.
I look at Catherine. When I look at her, she starts to speak, but the loud motorcycle noise cuts her off.
I step closer to the opening, trying to look out.
She rolls her eyes. “I guess Judas is home early.”
“Judas?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Your brother,” she says with a smile.
Brother?
And just as I tilt my head, a girl comes in from the right side.
“Hi, Mrs. Harrington,” she says, clutching the helmet to her chest. Her chestnut hair is pulled into a high ponytail. When she tilts her head, her green eyes lock onto mine. She scans me slowly, from my white sneakers up to my face, where I know my raised brow gives me away.
“Hi, Ella,” Catherine says, wrapping her in a hug.
I stay frozen.
The black cheerleader uniform catches my attention first, the red-and-white stripes along the edge of her skirt, the logo hidden behind the helmet pressed to her chest.
I tilt my head back to the right.
